Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter 31

Branch

"This is what I get." I say the words aloud, as if somehow hearing them will make me accept them. "You've gone your whole adult life knowing this would happen, yet you still got caught up."

My legs dangle off the countertop as I sit in the kitchen, smack dab in the middle of the island. Every now and then, the soles of my feet kick against the wooden cabinets and remind me I'm still sitting here. In the same place. For a couple of hours now. My ass is starting to hurt.

I've never sat and watched the sun move across the sky until tonight. It's pretty cool. The colors change from blue to purple and pink and even a fiery orange for a moment. Shadows change, birds stop flying—it's pretty incredible. You can also get kind of philosophical watching that shit.

Pondering where my life would sit if I were comparing it to a setting sun, I have to go with the tail end of the colored phase. Layla is, without a doubt, the brightest, most organic thing that's ever happened to me. She's lit my life with the most basic things, the most ordinary things, just like the colors a few moments ago reflecting off the kitchen windows. It's things like candy apples and stupid jokes and private grins that I've never found anywhere else and can't imagine ever sharing with anyone else either.

I've always thought if I ever found love, it would come in some big lightning strike. That some massive crack of thunder would happen and light would shine down from the heavens with a little arrow saying, "This is the one for you."

Now I know, it doesn't work that way.

Finding love happens at Water Festivals with sugar rushes. It happens in little deli shops over ham and cheese sandwiches. It happens on beaches with stories about grandmas and really listening to each other and making an attempt to understand the other person.

It's choosing to be together because you don't have to be. It's walking away when you can't be together for their own good, no matter how much it kills you.

This is heartache. This is the thing those Beau McCrae songs are talking about, the ones I love the beats to and got stuck in my head but had no way of identifying with the lyrics.

I get it. I get it all, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

A knock pounds on the door as I lift a bottle of Jameson to my lips. "Come in," I shout, taking a long swallow of the liquor.

The door opens and shuts, and I don't even bother to turn around to see who it is.

"You aren't even locking your doors now? What the hell happened while I was pissed at you?" Finn's voice rings through the room. His footsteps grow closer as I take another drink.

"I figured I'd leave it unlocked. Maybe someone will make my day."

"That sounds like a Clint Eastwood reference."

I shrug.

He strolls into the kitchen. His posture is tight, his eyes curious as he takes me in. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Just life, man. Just life."

"I saw the Exposé thing, if that's what you're talking about. Callum is a dead motherfucker."

"I was sitting here plotting his demise."

A smile begins to form on his lips, but doesn't quite stretch. "How'd Layla take it? She won't answer my calls."

"She won't take mine either." I take another swig, the burn a nice distraction from the rest of the pain.

He leans against the sink, arms crossed in front of him. "You don't believe that, right?"